DA: X
by bamftastik
Summary: An "elf", a "dwarf" and a large foreigner go for a walk in the woods... where they encounter an elf, a dwarf and a large foreigner. Pairings that my brain demanded, particularly the sword fight. If anyone else is amused by this I shall be happily shocked!


"You smell that?" Raising his eyes from the flask, he let his gaze stray to the treeline.

"I smell you, my friend. When was the last time you bathed?"

"Very funny, elf."

His companion crouched beside him on the log. Despite the easy smile, his hands strayed to the twin blades fastened at his back, eyes narrowing as they scanned the shadowed underbrush. Already his own face was hidden half in shadow, as if ready to slip beyond sight. Even as he eased, chuckling beneath his breath, he could sense a coiled energy there.

Scratching at his whiskers, he passed the flask between them. Again, his companion wrinkled his nose, quirking a questioning brow. "Must I?"

"A bet is a bet."

He took a long drag, tilting back his head with a pained grimace. "And this is a bet I am doomed to lose, yes?"

"Can't spend your whole life drinking wine. 'An this'll put some hair on yer chest, thicken it at least."

"If you are any indication, my friend, I would truly rather not." Already the accent was slipping, the usual brisk edges blurring as the words tumbled together.

"This is... inappropriate."

He had almost forgotten the big man. Not two yards away, he leaned heavy against a gnarled tree, silence and shadow seeming to thicken round his hulking form.

"Ya want some?"

"No." The word was biting, the accent deep and cold. Again he turned away, gazing out toward the waiting woods.

With a snort, he leaned toward the elf. "He's... worse than usual."

"He has lost a piece of his soul."

"Haven't we all."

He heard it then, distant but distinct, the crush of the underbrush, the sound of arguing voices. "Elf..."

Already he was gone, slipping away into the shadows. The big man had stiffened, coming to loom behind. He felt it now, the swelling quiver in his chest, lashing, spreading, burning down his arms. Whoever it was... let them come.

* * *

"Elf!"

"Oghren!"

The dwarf stumbled behind, almost tripping over the crunching brush. He righted himself quickly enough, snorting into his beard. "You know something, elf... just wanted ta say... you're alright."

"Drunk again, Oghren?" Ahead of him, Zevran paused, sweeping back a strand of hair as he squinted at the path ahead. His hand lingered there, fingers idly stroking one of the hilts rising from his back.

"Be silent. Both of you." Sten stood impassive, irritation only just beginning to show beneath his heavy sigh. His gaze, though, trailed to the path behind them. "We are lost."

"It does look that way, yes?" Crouching against a nearby log, Zevran busied himself with adjusting the straps of his boots.

Oghren let his axe slip, resting his arms across the pommel with a heavy grunt. Fishing at his belt, he retrieved the flask there.

"_Paashara_! More drinking?"

"Actually, that sounds like a fine plan." The elf clapped his hands, gesturing for the dwarf to join him. Uncapping the flask, though, his nose wrinkled. "On second thought..."

"This is pointless. There are no darkspawn here."

"Then why did you agree to come, my taciturn friend?"

"I am not your friend."

"Ahh." He slipped into an exaggerated pout. "My feelings, they shall never recover."

"Be silent. Do you hear something?"

With a snorting chuckle, Oghren let loose a rumbling belch.

"...Yes."

"_This_ is all that stands between the world and the Blight."

"Let us not forget one very surly Qunari. The archdemon would be wise to tremble." The elf paused then, stiffening as he tilted his head toward the brush. He came to his feet in a half-crouch, the blades at his back sliding free with a delicate hiss.

Oghren, too, had taken up his axe, any hint of laughter stilled beneath the deep creases of his eyes. He moved toward the treeline with a nod, sending Zevran ranging wide. Taking up his own battered maul, Sten moved to his other side.

Letting the blade part the bushes, the dwarf slipped between the trees. There he stopped, the curse lost beneath his whiskers.

The clearing was much like their own, a comfortably fallen log, the dying embers of a smoldering fire. Even Sten blinked, seeing the mirror image there. The smaller of the two men stood with three thin blades in each hand, his bushy brows drawing low as he growled. The larger loomed just beyond his shoulder, silent and unmoving. Though unarmed, it was to this one that the Qunari looked, this one that set his hands to flexing.

Zevran reappeared, slipping near with an amused chuckle. "Is that a... dwarf?"

"'s tall for a dwarf."

"But equally hairy."

Oghren raised a hand. "Ho, dwarf."

It came at them with a snarling cry, leaping the distance easily. Bringing his axe round, Oghren met the outstretched blades, jerking near to his knees as the steel the handle was sliced clean through.

Zevran spun aside, bringing his own blades round. But something took him from behind, wrapping round his waist, pinning his arms to his sides. The breath came hissing hot against his face.

"Not so fast, my friend."

He caught a glimpse of fallen hair, the face beneath seeming to be made of living shadow. It was strong, lean muscles tightening against his own. He almost had to laugh.

Sten, though, stood still, eyes locked to the largest of the strangers. Bending stiffly, he set his maul on the ground.

"Are you soddin' mad?" Oghren ducked low, losing another piece of his rapidly deteriorating axe handle.

"He is unarmed. I will not fight him like this."

The stranger, for his part, nodded gratefully. He came quick, then, size belying his speed, power crackling along his outstretched fist. Sten dove aside, delivering a sharp blow to the man's back. He staggered, straightening slowly as he turned. Whatever magic had possessed his arm crackled cross his entire body now, slipping up his neck to form an unblinking stare of living steel.

Even the Qunari had to pause. "Huh."

Oghren grunted. "Think ya might need your weapon now?"

His words were cut short as he again narrowly skirted the strange blades. The axe was well and truly spent now - but what metal could cut through steel? He almost opened his mouth to ask, but the other man brought his face low with a wordless growl.

"Ya got a lot of anger there, lad. Good stuff for a Bezerker." Oghren ducked low, aiming to bring the hilt into the man's gut. "But the key is to harness it."

Beyond them, he heard the large stranger snort. "Then, _tovarisch_, you obviously do not know who it is you fight."

"_Paashara_. Tend to your own battles." Sten had regained his weapon, bringing the maul round to take the man in the stomach.

Still Zevran struggled against his unseen captor, shrugging against the hold. "My, aren't you... limber."

He caught a glimpse of flashing teeth beneath the whispered chuckle. Pressing his eyes shut he leaned, tensing against his captor, letting his hips roll against the man's own. The grip stiffened for the merest of moments before falling away entire.

"_Was-?_"

It was Zevran's turn to laugh now, whirling above the creature crouching in the mud. He paused a moment, even as the other unsheathed his blades. "What sort of thing are you?"

"I could ask the same of you."

"I am an elf. Obviously."

The creature smiled. "Close enough."

The blades came in a whirling arc, spinning upward as he ducked low. Darting forward, Zevran parried easily, unable to keep himself from mirroring the other man's grin. They held for a moment, blade to blade, the laugh coming thick in his throat.

The other, though, dropped into a mocking bow, grin widening as the dagger rose behind him. He stepped back, then, a sword to each hand, the dagger held aloft by a long and curling tail.

"Well. Now that _is_ convenient."

The stranger winked. "En garde."

Across the clearing, Oghren grunted as his axe handle - now being wielded rather piteously like a staff - split in two. The cut was clear, unsplintered, but the other man seemed to be calming now, watching him. With a final growl he lunged, blades slipping close to the dwarf's middle. The plate took most of the blow, but his belt was ripped away, flung toward the nearby grasses.

"Oh, sod it all."

Dropping low, he aimed to catch it but the stranger was already there, cradling the bits of the shattered flask. Bending he sniffed, rocking back on his heels to rest elbows on his knees.

"Huh. Good stuff."

"Aye, it was."

The man looked up, cocking a heavy brow. "Got some of my own, if ya want. Least I could do."

"Yeh?"

"Yeah. Hey, elf!"

"What?" Zevran and the other turned as one, the moment of confusion allowing the rogue to get an elbow in the stranger's middle.

"Cut it out. Got company."

Sten was swinging still, cursing beneath his breath as he brought his weapon round. The other big man caught it easily, holding it for a moment before crushing the broad head beneath his hands. Only then did they seem to notice the others. The stranger blinked once, the strange metal receding as he fixed Sten beneath a sheepish grin.

"I am sorry."

"What manner of demon-?"

"-Whatever they are, _this_ at least is something!" Oghren had taken a spot beside the other man, taking a long and lingering sniff of the flask between them.

The duelers had both sheathed their swords, though the grin was still splitting Zevran's face. "May I?"

"May you what?"

Raising a brow, he nodded to the other man's backside, to the tail still idly swishing there. The look on his face, though, set the other to backing quickly away.

"Absolutely not!"

"Hm. Pity."

Leaning close, the diminutive stranger retrieved the flask from Oghren, tilting it back to take a long pull. "Why were we fightin', ya suppose?"

The dwarf only shook his head. "Soddin' fanservice."


End file.
